The Mermaid & The Crocodile (The Kill List Series Book One)

by Edee M. Fallon

  “They’re dead.”

  “I know and I’m … so sorry.”

  “You’re dead to me”—I threw my phone out the window, not bothering to hang up—“and I’m dead, too.”

  The Kill List

  Anthony Valdez

  Eduardo Valdez

  William Ramirez

  Gustavo Morales

  Ignacio Garcia

  Luis Rodriguez

  Tom Lewis

  The Mermaid & The Crocodile Reloaded (The Kill List Book Two)

  People say time heals all wounds, but I don’t believe that. Some wounds fester and rot, poisoning the blood as it spreads to the extremities, slowly contaminating all that was once good about you until there is nothing left worth living for … except revenge—the best and worst exception to every golden rule. No, time doesn’t heal every wound. But maybe, if you’re lucky, the scars left behind make you a little harder to kill.

  Chapter One

  Berty

  As the miles slipped past, I glanced at the reflection in the rearview mirror as dawn’s first light appeared on the horizon, my thoughts roving the minefield that was my memory. Memory, the great deceiver that it is, would never grant me absolution.

  “You’re dead! You can’t escape me! I will find you!”

  Eddie’s final words echoed through my mind, blocking out my father’s completely. I had done it. I had finally finished what my father had started, with the exception of Eddie, of course. Oh God, Eddie. My heart hurt knowing he was suffering, but more so because I was the cause. Now I was on the run. It was my turn to be the hunted, and there was no one who could save me from the fate I had brought upon myself.

  And then there was Jenks … Try as I might, I could not figure out his motivation for … for any of it. Why would he protect Tom Lewis? More importantly, why didn’t he stop me? Jenks had always attempted to make up for what my father lacked, as did Hugo. Together, they endeavored to give me the childhood experiences my father had no patience for … or willingness to participate in. Knowing what I did now, there was no way I could trust Jenks again, and that was the deepest cut of all. He was my strongest proponent, my voice of reason. He was my moral compass and guiding light; the one person who I knew I could always count on to steer me through the storms I was forced to weather. Warm tears trickled down my cheeks and I hastily wiped them away. He wasn’t worth it. Just like my father, he didn’t deserve them.

  My tears dried, leaving taut paths down my face, as I picked up highway I-10 near Tallahassee, starting my westward journey towards Louisiana. A few hours into the trip, I began noticing signs for Biloxi, my heart skipping a beat or two as thoughts of Eddie came to mind once again. I wasn’t sure if Louisiana was far enough away for me to feel safe. Then I came to my senses; nowhere was safe for me. After a few more hours on the road, my navigation system let me know that I was getting close to my exit. Following the directions of my GPS, I began the last leg of my journey towards my new home.

  Noticing the lack of everything as I drove down the secluded highway, I called Hugo to make sure he’d given me the right address. There was no way I could stay in a place like this.

  “Hugo?” I asked when I heard the line picked up, the sound of impact wrenches and air compressors blaring in the background.

  “You make it there okay, Little Bird?” he asked as the noise disappeared, letting me know he’d stepped into the privacy of his office.

  “You’ve sent me to hell.”

  “Nah, just Oberlin.” He laughed as I heard the leather of his office chair squeak under his weight. “You’re funny.”

  “How in the hell did you end up with a place all the way out in the sticks? I can’t stay here,” I said as I shook my head adamantly, as if he could see my silent abnegation.

  “An acquaintance of mine needed to unload some property, so I paid him cash for it. It looked nice in the pictures. I thought maybe one day I’d retire there.”

  “That is such bullshit. One, you’re never going to retire and two, you’d hate it here. There is nothing around. Oh wait, I’m passing a casino. That isn’t good, Hugo.”

  “What? You think Eddie—”

  “It’s just a little too close for comfort,” I interrupted.

  “Just check it out before you make any decisions.”

  “Remind me to never ask you for realty advice,” I said as I took a left turn onto a road that looked as if it led to nowhere, trees darkening the asphalt as far as I could see.

  “What? Maybe a little country is what you need. Some fresh air and wide open spaces.”

  “This is not Green Acres, Hugo. I think I passed that back in Florida.”

  “Just go take a look. I have no idea what kind of condition it’s going to be in, but you’re welcome to do what you want with it. It should be furnished, but if it’s not, just send me the bill for any purchases or repairs.”

  “Really? After the two houses and two cars, you are asking me for a bill? We’ll call it even … if I stay. Look, the GPS is telling me I’m here. I’ll call you later.”

  “Keep in touch, Little Bird. I, uh … I love ya, kid.”

  “Uh, yeah … I gotta go,” I said as I quickly hung up and tossed the phone into the seat next to me.

  The ‘For Sale’ sign on the road was faded and worn from the elements. Pulling up to it, I rolled down my window and ripped it out of the ground, tossing it aside as I drove down the overgrown driveway. Figuring this place was as good as any, I parked in front of the two-story, yellow house with a wraparound porch. It was a gorgeous home—the kind of place most girls would want to settle down and start a family in. A rundown barn sat further back on the property that looked as if it had been there since the Civil War. I guess it could have been a real possibility considering the history of this part of the country.

  Leaving my belongings in the car, I stepped out into the late spring afternoon. The sun shone bright in the midday sky as birds circled and swooped overhead, their calls echoing in the open landscape. Walking up the three steps of the porch, a board creaked underneath my feet as I made my way to the front door. Using the key Hugo had given me before my hasty departure, I unlocked the front door and opened it, the hinges whining from lack of use. The wooden floors stretched out in an open floor plan. A bar separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, windows lining three of the walls. A screened in back porch took up the entire back of the house, which faced north and into the woods, cypress trees stretching as far as the eye could see. It was fully furnished, as Hugo had mentioned, with solid wood tables and dark leather couches adorned with brass brads accenting the arms. The kind of furniture I would choose if I ever decided to stay anywhere permanently. The sunlight filtering through the windows lent an inviting aspect to the place, even though a feeling of abandonment lingered in the air.

  When I was through surveying the downstairs, I went upstairs to check the bedrooms. I chose the master bedroom that faced east and overlooked a well-maintained cornfield. Wandering into the next room, I visualized converting it into an office or library, needing somewhere to set up my search for Tom Lewis. I would have to buy some shelves, but it would give me something productive to do while I waited for the day I found the fucker that ruined my life. Peering out the window, I noticed that I could not see any neighboring homes, pleasantly surprised by the privacy the location afforded. Checking the rooms on the opposite side of the house, I found the same thing, except it offered views of what I presumed was an overgrown horse pasture. Hugo had been right—not that I would ever admit that to him. This seemed like the perfect place for me to hide out while I figured out my next move.

  Deciding to stick around for a while, I went downstairs and out the front door, heading towards my car to retrieve my phone and the necessities I would need to get me through the day. My wound was still fresh, and ached terribly. As much as I wanted to unload everything, I knew I wouldn’t be able to lift anything heavy until I healed. Reaching in the passenger side of the veh
icle for my phone, a voice suddenly sounded from right behind me, breaking the pastoral ambience of the day, and causing me to bump my head when I quickly withdrew from the car.

  “How you doing today, young lady?” the stranger asked in a southern drawl that was so different from anything I’d ever heard in Florida.

  He was short and stout, sweat glistening on his tanned face that was half-hidden in shadow beneath the cover of his faded red baseball cap. He had a kind smile, but I was immediately on alert as my instincts kicked in. Casually brushing my waistband, I found nothing as I remembered I’d forgotten to grab my gun out of the glove compartment.

  “I’m doing alright,” I said as I rubbed my throbbing head, already trying to figure how to get out of this budding conversation.

  “I’m Scott,” he said as he offered me his hand to shake.

  “Uh … hi,” I replied as I turned and began walking down the side of the house, hoping he’d get the point and skedaddle his way back to wherever he came from.

  “So, ya just lookin’ or ya movin’ in?” he asked as he followed me, apparent by the crunch of his footfalls in the dry grass.

  I never did like people getting in my business, especially ones I didn’t know. Turning around to face him, I shot him an annoyed look as I stared at him in silence. I wasn’t in a neighborly mood and I had a feeling this guy wasn’t going to let me off easy. We shared a few moments of awkward silence as we stood there trying to figure each other out. I wiped my brow with the back of my arm as the oppressive heat beat down upon us. Christ, it was hotter than Hades. I thought Florida’s climate was harsh. The humidity here was as thick as molasses and there wasn’t an ocean breeze to tame it. Hell, it wasn’t even summer yet.

  “Is it always this hot?” I answered his question with a question.

  “It is this time of year. Where ya from?” he asked with a casual lift of his chin.

  “What’s the winter like?” I still wasn’t ready to answer his questions, but he either didn’t care or didn’t get it.

  “Not much of a talker, are ya?” he asked as he placed his hands on his hips, a sardonic smile on his face.

  I guess he did get it.

  “It gets cold for sure, but it don’t snow or nothin’. At least not often. You got a name?”

  “Irene. Irene Adler,” I replied. Maybe that would get him to shut up … or go away.

  “Seriously? Like the woman?” he asked with a look of disbelief.

  Shaking my head, I smiled to myself. His knowledge of Doyle decided the matter for me, and I gave him an honest answer as I finally stuck my hand out to shake his. “It’s Berty.”

  “Well it’s nice to meet you, Berty,” he said as he released my hand. “You got any family in these parts?” He still looked disbelieving, but who makes up a name like Berty?

  “Nah, it’s just me.”

  “I see. Well, my wife Dee Dee and I live about a half mile that way,” he said, pointing east towards the cornfield. “If you need anything, don’t be shy about it. Dee Dee’s home most of the time and I’m either in the field or at the church.”

  “Church?”

  “Yeah, I’m the preacher. You should come by next Sunday. I can introduce you to some of the young folks in the area.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I said as I backed away. I hadn’t stepped foot in a church—When was the last time I’d been in a church? Tapping my finger to my lips, I tried to recall and drew a blank.

  “Well, okay then,” he said as he nodded his head, seemingly unoffended by my statement. “Consider it an open invitation, though. It was nice to meet ya, Berty.”

  “Yeah,” I said, surprised by the conviction in my voice. “You too, Preacher.”

  He smiled at me before he turned and walked towards the field, following him with my stare as he disappeared through the stalks. He seemed harmless enough, but so did I if you didn’t know any better. You never could tell with people. Anyway, I wasn’t here to make friends. I didn’t know how long I’d stay, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long enough to form any kind of relationships. I needed to regroup and start searching for the double-crossing-son-of-a-bitch that ruined my life. The problem was, I didn’t know where to begin. Tom Lewis could be anywhere.

  Tuck

  Morning light filtered through the blinds, waking me before the alarm. As if on cue, the annoying shrill echoed in the room, heralding another day. Rolling onto my side, I huffed out a deep breath as I slammed my hand down on the alarm, silencing it for the next nine minutes as I tried to convince myself that today was just another day, even though it wasn’t. Every day that passed was another day without them, and one day closer to seeing them once again. I’d never figured out if I was a half-empty or half-full kinda guy. What I did know was that every day I woke up was another day I was alive. It was also one day less I had on earth. Puzzle that one out then tell me how full your cup is at the end of the day.

  Shuffling to the bathroom, I turned on the cold water and stripped, stepping under the frigid downpour before increasing the temperature to scalding. Once I finished getting ready, I stepped outside and inhaled the morning air, noticing something was different, but unable to pinpoint the change. Although I didn’t catch the scent of rain on the wind, I was certain some kind of storm was brewing. There was electricity in the air … and it felt good. Change was coming; maybe it was already here.

  My gaze traveled over the property that had been in my family for generations, exhaling as my eyes landed on the spot where my childhood home once stood. I’d purposefully placed the trailer, where I now lived, as far away from the spot as possible. Since I also wanted to be far from the family cemetery on the opposite end of the land, I had decided to place my new home in between the two dreaded locations, at the front of the property, near the broken fence that separated my acreage from the road.

  Turning towards the grave markers, the day that changed my life forever replayed through my mind, once again reliving the shock I felt when I came home to utter destruction. All your life, you try to prepare for eventualities that are ultimately out of your control, then you realize control is a farce. None of us have it. No one ever will. Coincidence aligns with intention, lulling us into a false sense of security. I had heard the term blindsided used many times before that fateful day, but only vaguely understood the depth of its meaning; then I lost everything I ever cared about. When it happened, I realized the definition fell woefully short of the term, that it needed to be expanded to encompass every sense that was paralyzed when you took a direct hit to your soul. It’s not just your sight that diminishes, as the word implies. No sound falls on deaf ears. No breath captured in constricted lungs. The broken heart does not beat. The peripheral nervous system numbs with disbelief as you float suspended in a void of sudden detachment, unmoored and oblivious to everything else. There is no before and there is no after. Even the moment’s existence is in question as you try to make sense of your new reality, confusion increasing when you finally grasp there is no sense to be made and that God is dead.

  Shaking my head, I attempted to dispel the all-consuming sorrow that always surfaced with the recollection of what I’d lost, not that I could ever forget. It enveloped me like a spider web, wrapping me up in silky despair that could not be shaken off, no matter how hard I fought to dislodge myself from the tangled mess.

  Walking back into the house, I picked up my tools that I’d left near the door the night before and locked up. Placing them in the bed of my truck, I set off for another day of work. I took a right out of the property, even though the worksite was to the left. I avoided driving past the remains of my family at all costs, even if it meant driving miles out of my way to pick up the highway further down. I just wasn’t ready to see them yet. Maybe I never would be.

  The stretch of county highway was a mishmash of rundown trailers and ranch style homes, interspersed between stretches of fields and forest, the occasional multi-story house hidden further off the winding r
oad. Driving past the only unoccupied home in this part of town, I noticed a black Range Rover parked at the head of the overgrown driveway, craning my neck to see who the new resident could be. It had been on the market for so long, I wasn’t surprised that someone finally swooped in to buy it cheap.

  As I drove on towards work, Scott passed me, headed in the opposite direction. Raising my hand from the steering wheel, I waved, as did he. From my rearview mirror, I watched as he turned into the property I had just driven by. Knowing Scott, he was probably helping the new owner move in—such a good, neighborly, preachery thing to do. Remembering that I needed to pick up some lumber and supplies, I continued my drive into town, forgetting all about Scott and the new homeowner.

  Acknowledgments

  Where to begin? First, I’d like to thank my family. Sorry for all the functions I missed in order to get this story written. Your love and support is what makes this worthwhile.

  Second, I’d like to thank all of my friends: Kristin Story, Krystal Thomas, Monique Thiel, Gilbert Font, Amanda Phelps, Niza Strike, Susan Ritter, Jessica Waters, Nicole Karlson, Terrance Sims, Jenny O’Brien, Crystal Moore-Koppal, Marcia Davis, Krystle Zion and Diane Turner. Without you all behind me, I would have never made it through.

  Third, I’d like to thank my amazing beta readers for helping me perfect this story: Leslie Welsh, Kelly Steel Ownby, Donna McCabe, Tonya Flint Ruff, Julie Laz, Monica Matthews Santana, Kristie Digou Huggins, Brandace Morrow, Claire Luebke, Nicole Karslon and Toni Barrera. Although my eyes are keen, they are infallible. As any writer knows, it is impossible to catch all of your own mistakes.